


Heroes of Magic

by MagicUserElf



Category: Baldur's Gate, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dungeons & Dragons References, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicUserElf/pseuds/MagicUserElf
Summary: This is my attempt at making fantasy and Dungeons & Dragons feel as real as possible by injecting as much character and logic into it as I can.The series will involve mainly magic users and will start out with them isolated. Eventually their paths will merge and they'll become a traditional party of adventurers despite themselves and their environment.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Charmed

They say a tavern is a place of revelry and warmth, is it not? Then why am I neither warm nor in no mood to revel? The elven youth gave the bar surface a pound of his fist for the feeling of it. He had been traveling for months. Down the path of Vilinos through the mother forest and over the human plains of Aurikdale. On the way he had, true to his people’s word, encountered traveling feral thief humans. Watch yourself Gilthalis, his mother had warned, the humans of the Eastern plane are scavengers that view our common sensibilities as silly naivety. Be ready to kill, for chances are that their blades may already be questing for any throat to slit.  
Gilthalis closes his eyes. He can see with slow and almost absolute clarity the memory of the encounter with the three humans. They stood in a line, having formed one when they saw him. Wanting to keep his physical distance, Gilthalis stopped.  
“Hello, fellow travelers. Are you waiting for someone?” Gilthalis says, wishing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But his instincts clearly pointed to them waiting for him or at least someone like him.  
Each wore a longsword strapped around his waist, armor of leather and simple traveler's tunics and pants covered with patches of grease. Their smell reached across the fifteen feet they stood from Gilthalis. The one with a woven eye patch and long hair spoke first.  
“Aw now look'ere. We 'ave an fancy elf come down our path boys!”  
The others smirked “A fresh elf, aye!”  
“I warn you, I am well versed in self defense.” Gilthalis said.  
“You better be careful! Ye 'ear that boys? He thinks he can take us.” They all unsheath their swords and begin to close in.  
Gilthalis's heart begins to pound. Was this the feeling of adventure? Would his training be enough? Reciting the words he knew by soul, his voice pierced the ethereal and primal planes, as well as a number of other layers of reality, giving his voice an echoing quality that gave the men slight pause. He moved his hands in a complex gesture, tracing symbols onto several planes at once.  
“Anos-Fordam-Andiguah-Mad!” said Gilthalis, finishing his gesture with an uninterrupted gaze into one of the humans without an eye patch.  
“Aye! Aye, wait! Wait!”  
The two humans turn to their partner.  
“What is it Derg? For Drume's sake!”  
“I just think, well, don’t 'urt him! He's not bad at all. He doesn’t deserve it.”  
A look of bewilderment washes over both men.  
“What in the… “  
The two men simply stare at their companion as he protests and conveys his sudden change of heart.  
“Really, 'es a good person. Let’s leav'em be an' find someone else.”  
Gilthalis had casted a charm over the human. A charm was very unethical and only cast in the most dire of circumstances on another person. This was because it robbed a person of their free will, making them little more than a hostage or worse, a thrall of the caster. A whole life could be perverted with the misuse of this spell. Even now he felt a guilt in his chest that was only somewhat dampened by his victim's admission of intended violence towards Gilthalis. But maybe, Gilthalis reasoned, all they needed was one of their peers to reexamine the situation. Then perhaps they would see the evil that this type of behavior would produce. Perhaps if..  
Eyepatch grabbed his friend by the shoulder and slid his sword up from under the armor and through the ribcage. The man spasmed and gasped. Eyepatch kicked him back and yanked his sword which now glistened with blood. Gilthalis covers his mouth in revulsion and horror.  
“Get'em! Don’ let'em speak again!” the murderer says to his remaining companion as they charge.  
Gilthalis turns and runs in terror. He had witnessed his brothers and sisters kill for food and self defense but never had he saw such callousness in such close range and apparentness. Thanks to his boots of elven kind he begins quickly putting ground between them. The two murderous men's shouts grow fainter with each of his swift footfalls, his cloak trailing behind him.  
Gilthalis opens his eyes, sliding out of his memory trance. He pounds the bar surface again, once more for the life of the poor wretched man he watched being slain in front of him.  
“It was my fault. If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t chosen that spell, such evil would not have been caused. I am so foolish.” Gilthalis mutters softly, gazing a hole through his fist. He wished he was back home, up in the trees, among the beautiful wild things of the forest where his wise cousins could lecture and advise him and banish this painful uncertainty away.  
“Ye'wont some whiskey?” a cheerful voice bellows in front of him.  
Gilthalis raises his head to meet the voice's owner, a portly, bald man in a brown apron sporting a thick handle bar mustache.  
“Bet you a four copper it'll go down clean, cleaner than an elven arse.” He smiles, causing his great mustache to widen even more.  
Gilthalis removes his cloaks hood, revealing his elven ears.  
“And what does that exactly mean?” Gilthalis says, with a definite air of annoyance.  
The bartender's smile shrinks into an open scowl.  
“That'll be two silvers from yer kind knife ear.”  
Gilthalis was beginning to believe all the horrible stories about humans and starting to disbelieve they were capable of anything good at all. This was his second first direct encounter with one of them and it too wasn’t doing their image in his eyes any favors. Fine, let him be the more couth of them both and put his best foot forward.  
“I apologize if I have offended you, but I do not have any coin at the moment for such strong drink.” Even Gilthalis dared not imagine they would have anything matching in quality the honeysuckle wine from home he favored from home.  
“However, would be interested in water.”  
The bartender merely stood there. He began running his eyes over Gilthalis as if attempting to find something that didn’t make him quite as angry as he was now.  
“What my fair friend actually means to say,” a heavily armored giant body loomed over Gilthalis and slammed a gauntlet clad hand onto the bar, leaving a gold coin. “is that he demands some of your Brandy. Water means brandy in elf. Get it?”  
The bartender rubs his head.  
“I see. We, well ye live and ye learn, by Tamora. Aye.”  
“By Tamora indeed, and well met!”  
Gilthalis turns around and looks up to see a giant clad in cirulean, glinting armor. His eyes and hair gleam red and a thick medallion with the symbol of a woman's face dangles over his breastplate.  
“Who are you?” said Galthalis  
“I am Larian the Champion of Velru. And I think I have a job you might be interested in.” he flashes a smile with teeth that gleam like polished pearl.


	2. Svala's Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svala is introduced while she is escaping from her father's crumbling subterranean complex of demon worshippers. We learn a bit about her motivations and the relationship with the demon bound to her as she makes her way through a particularly dangerous spot.

Svala clenches her jaws on every third step and exhales-inhales interchangeably every fifth step while jogging steadily down the dark moldering corridor. With practiced focus she wills her heart beat to follow the rhythm, allowing almost perfect alignment of psionic and physical energies. Svala passes through the next threshold. The wooden door behind slams shut and transmutes itself into iron. She can tell by the slight popping and sucking noise that tends to accompany most transmutations. The torches lining the walls all flare to sudden life and casts a pale purple glow. She stops and eases her breathing tempo down gradually as she scans the room.  
“You'll never get out of here without using my full power. End this pathetic charade of a rebellion before you kill us both!” said the voice in her mind.  
Thirak'na always tried to beg her in a dominating way. When Svala found herself in a good mood it was funny, even cute. But now, while trying to escape the dungeons of her father’s insane cult, it was just annoying.  
“Keep up your sass and we’ll be due for a nice holy water shower once we’re through here.”  
“Noooo! I will consume you! You-“  
“Oh yes, I would.”  
The little shit predictably replied with silence as if on cue. Pathetic as it’s behavior was, the threats it made were serious. If she gave in too much or ever lost control Thirak'na would steal her body forever. The little shit leech would just whine, flail and endure holy showers or any other punishment she could devise until then. Back to business.  
The torches were alight with curse fire and so gave off much less light than fire ought to. The dungeon floor was flagstone and littered with crumpled skeletons or the standing stone images of the dead. These were the remnants of the lucky ones. The far less fortunate were most likely dragged to lower levels in which flaying, burning, or other more complicated ways of causing pain were rendered upon them. Centuries of accumulated debt and credit to demons just hovered while the people suddenly had no faith in the cult. What were the invested demons to do in response to such a lack of any promising return? Why the demons were going to collect on their dues and salvage as much as they could starting immediately, of course.  
A slender, black torso covered in scales and a bulging multi colored eye embedded where it’s neck should be materializes in front of Svala. It whirls around like a top and moves closer, cutting the air with it’s long taloned arms. Svala buckles back on her knees and slides forward with a bit of a psionic nudge, sliding in between the legs of the whirling demon and cutting it’s heel with her bound dagger. It trips and slams it’s propeller limbs into the ground, kicking up dust and bits of the dead into the air. While getting up she flings the dagger with her right hand into the demon’s bright eye. She closes her left hand and activates the binding tattoo on her palm. The dagger detonates and appears back in her right hand, leaving her in a defensive dagger stance and the demon exploding, and quickly being consumed in flame.  
Svala's eyes bounce from one end of the room to the other, ready and anticipating any possible new danger. Svala's breath-beat has become a well timed piston. For a moment Svala spots a glimmer of yellow rippling waves at the end of the chamber that would be imperceptible to normal vision. Four more whirling demons materialize in a semicircle between her and the glimmer she spotted. Svala exhales and focuses on what she believes must be her soul. The two in the center charge and begin to whirl while the outlying demons leap into the air on a course for a downward death strike. Svala bounds straight into the two front demons. Instead of being mangled and sliced in the storm of talons, her body phases into the ethereal plane. The claws pass through nothing as she travels by, passing what looks to her their vague misty shapes. She returns to the physical, seemingly appearing from thin air and slices the air in front of her and feels some resistance. A robed man appears. He clutches his throat. Svala gives a stab each into his chest and eyes and runs forward, putting more space between her and the demons. But instead of charging her they lower their arms and slowly reduce their whirling into a still stance. Some start to mill about aimlessly while others simply stand in place.  
Fortunately, not all demons were driven by hunger of souls. Some demons were like golems, bereft of minds and loaned out by higher infernal managers.  
Svala sighed and began searching the dying summoner. The look on his face was of surprise and fear. Really, she thought. If you didn’t think something like this was going to happen, then you should have become a farmer. It was an odd and rare thought for her. How different things would have been if she had grown up yanking on the teats of a cow and churning butter. She smiled to herself, making the demonic markings around the corner of her mouth bend. She probably wouldn’t know what a demon actually was or have any idea what a city looked like. Nor would she have undergone the painful bindings or even feel the need to gain any more power than she already possessed. It would be a simple life full of many small, simple pleasures. She was sure. She laughed with the thought of her in pigatils, wearing an apron as the dying man gurgled something incomprehensible up to her through the welling of blood in his throat.  
“Aha, so this is it aye, summoner?” she says, and pulls a small disk engraved with an eye and a binding sigil.  
She understood the use and meaning of such engraved sigils, although her particular cell of acolytes would never use them in this manner. The cult spread far like a massive tree root and she, a forgotten bastard daughter of the originator had come from quite a far branch to cut off the head. Only, it seemed that it was already in the throes of death.  
She holds the disk and her blade in her palm pulls the dagger across just enough to draw blood.  
“Shegor, Negothe, grant me these servants so that I may bring you blood.”  
Svala waited expectantly but also cautiously. There was no real magic here to this. The sigil was a marker or a calling card between the summoner and the said demon power. It was up to this power to either grant or not grant. Often groveling and ass kissing would just be ignored, except when it wasn't. In either case, she wouldn’t start prostrating or praising, it was beneath her. The demons didn’t stand to attention or acknowledge her. She frowned. Then sometimes you just had to be persistent. Demons could be the biggest drama queens.  
“Shegor, Negothe, grant me –“  
“We heard you…” a voice of strangled air rasped through her ears, “Why should we?”  
This was, surprising if not highly unconventional. But it wasn’t unheard of.  
“Why reward what has failed us?”  
Gods, was it whining? Did it feel sorry for itself? Regardless, it was always good to keep a demon talking. The longer a demon talked, the more it seemed to actually do something. That something was usually bad, but seeing as how everything was almost literally hell down here she figured she would take her chances.  
“I didn’t fail anything. I'm actually winning. Say hello Thirak’na.”  
The demon maintains silence.  
“Don’t be shy.”  
Svala feels something reach into her. She doesn’t try to block it.  
“Thirak’na, it is you? Traitor. Worm!” the air hisses.  
“And what a lovely reunion.” Said Svala.  
“My prince! Free me! If was not my fault! She has stolen me from you!” Thirak'na's desperate squeals scratch the insides of her head.  
“Silence! You have stolen from us. Do you think us blind?”  
“Is that true?” said Svala.  
“My prince!” Thirak’na was beginning to sound even more whiney “Please! That was great aeons ago. If you release me, my masters will-“  
“Keep him.”  
“Excuse, me?” said Svala  
“Make him suffer.”  
Thirak’na was silent once again.  
Svala feels the weighty connection sever and clarity returning to her external senses.  
“It seems like you’re even annoying to other demons. I really liked your friend.”  
Thirak’na did not reply.  
“Really? Nothing? What did you do to him?”  
“Silence worm of a mortal! I devoured half his essence, when we were young.”  
The one-eyed demons all turned to face Svala, but made no threatening movements.  
Svala pointed at one of them.  
“Pound down that door, and put your back into it.”  
The demon began launching itself into the door. It collides into the door, causing metal to lurch. It repeats the action again and again.  
“This has been a great day.” Svala laughed.


	3. One Walnut and Four Cups

The Red Nymph was packed. Nobles and well to do merchants collected here to drink through the veritable apocalypse outside. As looting, abberent magical diseases and murder tears through the streets, fine gentlemen and powdered women of leisure and desire mingle. Guards were placed along all entrances of the three story tavern brothel to ensure maximum security. Any pangs of guilt were abated by the shelter from the dangers the Red Nymph offered to the guard as well as the patrons. Death seemed to find anyone out there, guard member, noble or not.  
Kari sat in the corner attracting a steady stream of participants and onlookers.  
“Step right up, m'lords and ladies it’s as simple as it gets that’s right one-count'em-one Walnut and four cups.’ Said Kari, barely audible from five feet away amidst the racous jamboree of laughter and music. But that was fine because most of his audience pressed in close.  
Kari made the cups dance around his fingers with impossible manipulative skill. His fingers were so deft it seemed magic as the cups almost seemed to weave around each other of their own accord. A man with a thick jutting chin and furrowed brow focuses intensely on the cups. An iron rod tipped with maces on each end peaks from behind his neck and above his head.  
“And where she stops,” the cups halt “no one knows! Oh, I’m not even sure. Help me out here, skull crusha'. I know you got it.” Kari nodded his head in time with the tavern jig and winked at a bar maid across the room.  
“Hm.” The Man apparently called skull crusher slowly points to the cup all the way on the right. Kari lifts the cup and reveals a walnut. Kari claps his hand over his head and looks up in despair.  
“Alas, even as the gods go, Mask is a fickle mistress.” Said Kari  
Skull crusher nods his head, thoroughly satisfied. Two of his similarly armed adventuring type compatriots pat him on the back and congratulate him.  
“There, there, tarnished ego. Give the gentlemen his dues.” Kari shakes his head in disbelief and hands over a pouch of coins to the hulking warrior skull crusher. While putting on the show and saying his lines, Kari had been untying the pouch of gems hanging on skull crusher's belt. He had just finished doing so. This was a complicated feat of visualization and telekinetic manipulation even a dedicated wizard would struggle with, given the constraints of doing it incognito and while providing such a show above the table. Yet as he continued to chatter away and sheepishly lament how he should maybe consider cutting his losses, he deftly willed the gems to float one by one, neatly in a line, right into his own open pouch sitting between his legs.  
“Oh well. This old romantic can’t bear to part with a crowd as intent as all of you. Let’s make things interesting shall we? Another shell! He added a shell from his pocket and began weaving them about even faster than before. That’s right, he thought, up the ante and bring it to the climax. That’s how you keep a crowd hooked. Let them think they're watching a struggle, when in reality they’re getting their houses cleaned.  
“Hold on!” A wizened old magic user with a good monocle wedged in between his eyes folds steps over and places his hand on skull crusher’s shoulder.  
“Why are you using magic under the table?”  
Fucking mask, Kari hated magic users, besides himself. KariKari let a sad, shamed expression wash over his face.  
“He's a cheat? He hasn’t even been winning!” crusher exclaimed.  
“Indeed, my strong friend. I have been using magic, but before you all jump to conclusions I must share with you –“ he paused, mustering his best tears “- I must confess that I am afflicted with a condition.”  
“You are what? What is this nonsense?” spat the wizard.  
“I assure you. It is not nonsense. You see, long ago, I had the ill luck of running into a basilisk. The basilisk you see, was lame. Long blinded and should have been dead, if it weren’t my friend Shana's. She had adopted it to ensure it have a fair life. Well, I don’t know how to put this.”  
He took a deep breath “Apparently it’s vision was just good enough to turn me into stone partially. Do you know what portion of my body it was that was turned to stone? “  
The wizard looked disgusted and was looking for a way to leave the situation, but the audience was already lamenting with him. He didn’t want to appear callous.  
“Now here, boy. I didn’t-“  
“Well you see it was my wood pecker sir. And the wizard sir, one of your kind, botched the spell to give me back what was mine.”  
“I am so sorry sir, please –“  
“And so now I have to have a spell over it just to stay normal, sir. But that’s not even the worst of it. You want to know the worst of it?”  
“Alright, alright –“  
“The worst of it my relationship has never been the same since. My relationship with your fat mother, sir.”  
The delivery was in such a way that the crowd roared with laughter. The wizard is mortified. He looks around furiously calling on the crowd to shut up. Skull crusher is crying.  
Kari kicked the table into skull crusher’s face and the wizard, then jumped on top of the bar. The wizard shot a spell at him, missing him by an inch and causing the liquor bottles behind to burst. Kari ran along the bar and jumped over the crowd. He catches the chandelier in his hands and swings it to land on the other side like a cat and bounded out into the night, laden with gems, gold and a belly full of ale and food. More than anyone outside of that place could boast.


	4. Praise Velru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I've added a lot of my own stuff with magic, characters, gods and geography. Larian is actually the paladin who talked to the elf earlier. I just need to edit it later and make it match up for consistency

Larian shifted his weight slightly, causing the massive pieces of enchanted armor to glide frictionlessly. Though far from weightless, the divine iron weighed much less than it should normally, allowing the paladin all the more leeway in any situation that demanded it. Unfortunately, he mused, the current quest at hand demanded no such simple applications of his expertise.  
Larian, having finished enjoying the view over V'ronna from his high tower went over to his personal alter to Velru and kneeled down. Just when Larian decided his mind was clear enough to begin praying, the door to the chamber creaked open.  
“I beg you forgiveness my Lord,” a boy no more than twelve bowed his head, and rattled on, “but her eminence requests your presence.”  
Larian sighs. His sister must need his opinion on what he thinks of a particular emissary or if her latest public sermon script seems alright. In truth, it may just to relieve her restlessness from the constant demands of regiment such holy work demands. He rose up and gives the boy a nod, “Very good, Paige. Message received, now, off you go.”  
With that the boy turns and runs down the corridor. Nothing seemed odd about the request, but it didn’t stop Larian from having an uneasy feeling about it. It was not often she summoned him in this manner and furthermore his sister Ailarenee had only recently replaced the ascended high priestess, meaning she had graduates into a position with her outside of this world, literally. It was a big position to fill, a position that Larian was almost glad he had not been selected for himself. Of course, whatever Velru deemed correct was just and true, and obviously she had seen he would not be suited for such a prestigious position.  
The trip didn’t take long. It was wise for him to remain close, after all, he was her body guard. Larian arrived at the High Priestess quarters. Battle priestesses in full holy plate guarded the door. Larian bowed,  
“How are the halls today, madam guard? Any dragons or nefarious types about?” said Larian.  
The guard on the left scowled, crinkled her nose and said “Are you really a paladin or did you keeping that armor warm for someone else?”  
The other guard giggled and covered her mouth.  
“Now see here, this is my armor I assure you.” Said Larian  
“Good to see you as well Larian.” The guard's face softened into a warm smile. “Still brining the children from the orphanage to the gallery tomorrow morning?”  
“Of course.” Said Larian  
The guards opened the doors and let him inside the chambers. Ailarenee was nowhere in the audience room, and so he continued behind the throne into the study and found her kneeling in front of the Velru alter. Hers was considerably more ornate than his. A suspended golden head of a woman glowed with a Divine sheen as her hair fell from her scalp, embracing the empty space around the head almost like a pair of wings ready to take flight. Ailarenee wears a white robe with gold trim and a red line that starts from the top of her high backed collar and all the way down into the base, with fabric so soft and light that it appears to lay on the floor like water Frozen in time. She turns around after finishing a prayer and her face takes his breath away for a moment. Her long lashes, glowing skin and her delicate features certainly did make one think of the divine. It was only proper for the high priestess of Velru the god of beauty and justice.  
“My lady,” Larian kneels, “ You requested me.”  
“I am afraid it is not to exchange pleasantries.” said Ailarenee  
“I understand. How may I serve Velru?” said Larian.  
“Rise and follow me.” said Ailarenee  
Ailarenee led Larian to the back of the study and removed a partition with emblem prints of flowers and Velru's face. She put her hand on the wall and a magical door appeared. The wood, stained bright azure blue and the iron brackets rose red from the enchantments. She opened the portal and beckoned Larian to follow her down the passage.  
“Mention this to no one.” Said Ailarenee  
“Of course not my lady.” Said Larian  
What appeared to be a pitch black room immediately changed itself as Larian closed the door behind them. A silver ripple came from the door that traveled over the whole room and melted the darkness and revealed an circular audience chamber with a bottomless abyss in the center. Worryingly it seemed to Larian for a moment like he would begin to fall down into the darkness at any moment, but some invisible force held him and Ailarenee up. He shifted his footing and ripples of light moved out from under his iron clad feet as if he were walking on water.  
“This is the divining room, Larian. I see you are…”  
“I am humbled to say the least.” Said Larian  
Ailarenee nods, “ The function is even more humbling.” She says, and reached out with he palm face up.  
A scintillating sphere appears, the size of a pea, and then grows to the size of a boulder larger than both of them four times over. In the sphere a picture materializes of an oddly shaped moon in a starry night sky.  
“This is our world. It’s called à planet.”  
“This, planet? But it’s so small.”  
Larian could hardly believe that this was a real divining room. He knew that they existed but very few did at all. The people who knew of divining rooms often have never seen them. Such magic was incredibly powerful, especially in times of warfare. There was a time when every king of every realm had one. But Kings were often corrupt and it would not pleas Velru for her gifts to be used in that manner. So all the divining rooms were dismantled or destroyed save for a few, or so it was said. Having one was a risk that attracted deadly attention of powerful people.  
“Yes, well it looks that way. Amazing isn’t it?” she says, and closes her grasp. The view zooms into the planet, until the view encompasses the known continents of the world.  
“Don’t worry.I don’t use this unless Velru guides me too. It was her wisdom that preserved this after all.”  
“I trust your judgement.” Said Larian  
“Good. Now, let’s see.. ah. Here.”  
She points to an island east of the common continent. Kalveya, a place known for its sentient race of lizard men and tenacious merchant humans.  
“Velru has told me that just a few days ago a great stone of fire fell from the sky in that place..”  
As she says this, a shooting star crashes into the continent, sending a small visible shockwave.  
“Velru has charged you with finding the stone and bringing it back. If you cannot bring it back here, destroy it.”  
“I see.”  
“Do you accept this quest, faithful paladin?”  
“I do!” Larian kneels down in front of Ailarenee.  
It could have been just the excitement of taking on a quest of such magnitude but Larian knew well that it was the sensation of Valru's power flowing into him. To be charged with divine might again was intoxicating. Larian ceased to worry, think or for a time breathe.  
“You are blessed and are now in full effect. You are now the hand of Valru herself.”  
“Than you my lady. Praise be to Velru, shining Rose of Justice!”  
Ailarenee placed her hand on him, “Please, Larian, stay alive. We know very little of this foreign land. They are not like us. They have many gods and many govern themselves. It is not like V'ronna or even all of Amantia. Not at all. May Velru guide and watch over you.”  
“Thank you, Ailarenee. May Valru watch and guide you too.” said Larian


End file.
